


Know Me Deeper

by B_V_Vid



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 09:44:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11803485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_V_Vid/pseuds/B_V_Vid
Summary: 7x03 spoilers! A Daenerys & Jon Snow introspection fic, describing their thoughts upon their first meeting, and going beyond. Frustration and weariness are their first experience of each other. But, when they get to know each other deeper...Show canon for now, but will probably veer off  soon. (future chapters will have spoilers of 7x04, and 7x05, but that is where we will start departing from canon)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All of the Game of Thrones universe, and the cast of characters in it belong to G.R.R.M. and the show creators. All Hail! I own and make nothing from any of this- just playing with my favorite characters, to keep from going nuts till the new episodes air... and because, they're just too fun not to play with! :D
> 
> On with the show!

The crashing waves against the jugged rocks protruding from the water, nearly drowned out the splash of the oars as the crewmen rowed Jon Snow towards the shore. But they only increased his nervous heartbeat. It seemed an impressive landscape- imposing, majestic, and made no less so by the group he could see awaiting them upon the shore.  
The shorter figure in the forefront was unmistakable, and Jon half-smiled as he thought of the last time he'd seen Tyrion Lannister, as a green youth, heading to the wall, not yet a brother of the night's watch. It seemed a lifetime ago- so much has happened; so much had changed. His smile faded at that.

"The bastard of Winterfell", the shorter man greeted him as he stepped towards him, having disembarked from the boat and made his way towards the not-quite-welcoming welcome party.  
"Dwarf of Casterly Rock", Jon deadpanned, before his face found the half-smile again, just as his companion's did too. There was a camaraderie here, good-natured and respectful, and Jon was glad to see a familiar face among the group of Dothraki guards, who's decidedly unWesterosi dress and curved weapons looked so uncomfortable to his eyes.  
They shook hands warmly.  
"I believe we last saw each other atop the wall."  
"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right. Picked up some scars along the road." Jon commented, nodding slightly at Tyrion's face. The scar across it was clearly visible, healed and softened with time though it was. His eyes, however, showed a different kind of scarring- the otherwise invisible toll of the strain and loss these years have held for the shorter man.

"It's been a long road, but, we're both still here." was Tyrion's reply. He was eyeing Jon with eyes which took in the hardened weariness which the years have carved upon the face of the once-green and broody youth he had been.  
He's a man grown now _,_ Tyrion thought, the sulky sombreness of his younger days transformed into a solid and resolute stoicness which suited his long handsome face. A true Stark, bastard though he may be. Tyrion was glad to see him.

For his part, Jon was no less glad, weary though he was. He wondered how this man, who seemed utterly unconcerned with politics or the fate of the kingdom last he saw him, should come to be here now, the hand and second-in-command within the invasion of Daenerys Targaryen, the last surviving member of that royal house which his father fought to dethrone. Daughter of a mad and cruel king which the realm was glad to be rid of.

But then, he thought, what are the odds that I would be here either?!

If it wasn't for the dire and dangerous situation his people were facing, he'd never had come; never had set foot anywhere near this "Dragon Queen", and would have done his best to steer clear of all of her affairs, which did not concern the North, or its' people.  
We have enough to concern ourselves with already, he mused.  
But, that is precisely why he had come.

Further introductions were made, of Ser Devos and Missandei, and as she welcomed them to Dragonstone, and requested with gracious diplomacy that they surrender their weapons, Jon looked around more keenly.

Enough Dothraki guards to wipe us from the face of the Earth, should we show resistance. Enough sharp weaponry in plain sight to drive this point home to us.  
It wasn't a request. Yet he played along, politely acquiescing and handing over his sword, and watched as his party gingerly followed suite.  
His mask of calmness nearly slipped as he then watched the Dothraki guards pick up the sloop they'd rowed ashore with, and carry it away. _No going back now,_ he gulped . If this was indeed a trap, though he still wasn't certain it was, they'd played right into it.

As they began their ascent up the hill, Jon's eyes easily noticed the dark slabs of stone poking along the shore, and shining in patches through the beach dunes surrounding them.

There were also more than enough reasons to have come, he though.  
Dragon glass was visible even with the naked eye! Dragon glass, one of the only hopes his Kingdom had, of surviving the Winter, and all that came with it.

It's worth it, he told himself. It'll all be worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, chapter 2. This assumes the first meeting between Jon and Daenerys was exactly as the 7x03 scene had gone. We'll start to slowly veer off the show canon, starting with the events of 7x04, soon.

Jon fell back onto the large four-poster bed within his chambers, sighing loudly, in both frustration and... _relief?  
_ He was surprised by that. Surprised to suddenly note the tension he hadn't realized he'd held throughout his entire body since his arrival at Dragonstone a few hours earlier, beginning to finally subside. Surprised, by the entirety of his first meeting, with Daenerys Targaryen.

She hadn't been what he'd expected, though he wasn't sure what his expectations had been.

Majestic, yes, and fierce, and every inch the Targaryen beauty she was rumoured to be. But there was _something_... something he couldn't place.

She had been cold with him, and formal. That much wasn't a surprise, either.

Their meeting couldn't have been said to had gone well. Though, strictly speaking, it didn't go quite as badly as it could have, either. He _was_ relieved, now that this first meeting was over. Though his brow stayed furrowed as he thought over it, frustration coupled with temporary resignation washing through him. Of course she didn't believe him. He could hardly believe himself.  
Of course she wanted his fealty – the invitation the raven brought to him, to embark upon this visit, made that clear also. So what was it that _did_ surprise him then, he mused.

The forceful strength of her. The very _power_ emanating from her as she spoke of her past, of her faith in herself, of the sense of destiny she felt guiding her, to rule over the Seven Kingdoms.

He frowned at that thought. _Seven_ Kingdoms. Including his own.

Still, her passion was impressive, if intensely unnerving. He remembered the way his throat ran dry, the way his breath caught of its' own volition as she came down the stairs of her elevated seat, to stand before him, close enough to feel that power emanating off of her, attempting to envelop him.

He'd stood his ground, he was glad of that. Though it was oddly more challenging than he'd have thought, he had held to his dignity, his resolve, and his aims. He couldn't afford not to.

That was one of the most surprising things about this meeting, he suddenly realized.

The way the circumstances of his life thus far had panned out, he could rarely afford to be distracted from his aims, to release his focus for long from anything he had set it upon.

He'd stood his ground, against distrustful wildlings, against disapproving Night's Watch brothers, against the weary Lords of the North, against the Bolton army, against the on-slaughter of the army of the dead itself. He'd faced certain death more times than he'd care to recall (and even succumbed to it once). And he'd stood his ground – sometimes with grief, usually with trepidation or, at times, full-out terror. Because he'd had to.

He'd thought that holding his own, against Daenerys Targaryen, could not be as hard as any of that.

She was one woman, after all - armies and dragons at her back notwithstanding.

One woman. And he had found it hard to meet her eyes.

She _was_ unnerving, he frowned to himself.

She wasn't supposed to be. This slip of a woman, young and sightly, commanded an aura around her which he did not bank upon.  
It should have been nothing, compared to all he'd seen and faced; shouldn't have inspired more than the somewhat comparable air of respect his sister Sansa's strength has come to command of late; nor more than the slight flush that was all that remained of his youthful nervousness around beautiful women.

It should not have hitched his breath nor sped up his pulse as much as it did.

He had been nervous of this meeting since before he'd agreed to it. Before he'd ever set foot upon Dragonstone. But he had been nervous of the vast army of trained fighters at her back; nervous of the 3 mythical fire-breathing beasts which she had called her children.

He had never expected, to be nervous of _her_ , in her own right.

Fire and Blood indeed. Vehement to the point of forcefulness. And the mask of haughtiness and cool disdain, though polite, had not slipped from her face during their entire audience.

Yet somehow, he knew it covered something.

There was more to this Dragon Queen than met the eye. Much more.

He didn't know how he knew that. But he was determined to find out what it was. 


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys wanted to throw something, break something. _Burn something._ That thought made her stop in her tracks and take a deep breath, heavy with frustration.  
I can't think that way. _Won't_ think that way!, she told herself. _I am not my father!_

The pressures of being at war were wearing on her nerves. More specifically, it was learning that two of her allies, the Greyjoys and the Dornish Sands, were just attacked on the open waters on their way to Dorne. Much of her fleet, destroyed. Allies dead, or captured. This was not working out as planned!

Neither was Jon Snow.

She took another deep breath, banishing him from her mind for the moment, and settled for throwing on her warmer cape and heading at a brisk pace, out towards the exit out of the castle, into the open air, dismissing her Queen's guard as she did.  
She needed to vent her annoyance, and clear her head. And she was a Queen. It wouldn't do to have witnesses to her letting loose of her composure.

When she reached a distance far enough away from the castle walls, with no-one in sight, she gave voice to her mood with a disgruntled cry, and kicked at a clump of dirt beneath her feet, watching it tumble away from her and shatter against a boulder on the edge of the cliff. Broken. _Like my alliances.  
_

Her anger vented enough for now, she suddenly felt sad. Sad for Yara Greyjoy, the flinty woman whom she'd grown to respect. Sad for her brother Theon, whos' quiet demeanor, she had come to learn, hid the damage from months of torture, and a broken spirit only starting to recover.  
Sad for the imperious Ellaria and her argumentative daughters. Sad for war itself.

She looked up at the heavens, blinking back the unexpected moisture in her eyes, and sent a silent prayer out for them to find peace in whatever world they were in now. _I hope for their sake, it's_ _better than this one._

Grief; that is what much of her frustration concealed, she realized then. It was easier to be angry.  
She hated losing people loyal to her; people under her protection; people who's help she needed in the making of a better world; whom she hoped to help find greater fulfillment in their own lives through their allegiance with her. _I'd failed them._

A tear escaped the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away impatiently, squaring her shoulders. There was no time for that. She needed a new plan, needed to turn her focus on leading those loyal to her, those she still had, towards a better fate then those she'd lost.  
They cannot, _will_ not, die for pledging their loyalty to me.

Maybe it's for the best Jon Snow did not?!  
 _Jon Snow._ Her mind came back to him with a jolt, and with that, she found her mood and expression changing, her mouth wryly curving up on one side.  
He had left a conundrum of impressions upon her in that short, interrupted audience upon his arrival.  
Stubborn, yet amicable. Stoic, yet passionate. Managing to refute and refuse both her's and Tyrion's persuasions and demands to pledge his loyalties to her cause, without discourtesy or pretense.  
And then, speaking sense and nonsense, all at once. She didn't know what to make of him.

Setting the fantastical claims about an undead army aside, she contemplated what she knew of this man.

Tyrion had briefed her well, in preparation for his arrival. She had requested that, wanting to be well-informed and ready. But the brooding, unworldly yet quietly perceptive lad her Hand had described, seemed contradictory even before she'd sat eyes upon him.

She was assured he was an honorable, trustworthy man, yet he had also forsaken his vows to the Night's Watch on his path to being crowned King. That didn't add up, she'd pointed out to Tyrion then. The vows were for life. If he was as honorable as he was rumored to be, he wouldn't be where he was today. Perhaps his pride and ambition had gotten the better of him, she'd speculated; perhaps he saw fit to realign his loyalties back towards his kin and keep, regardless of what vows he broke.

That had already raised her suspicions. Now, she just didn't know what to think.  
The man she'd met an hour ago, seemed humble enough, and rather courteous. It was also clear by Ser Devos' mentions that he was well-liked and well-respected by his kinsmen.  
He didn't strike her as the kind of man to take his word or responsibilities lightly. If anything, he gave off the exact opposite impression. It just didn't make sense.

And on top of it all, he had not shrunk from her. She'd had the home-court advantage, and more information on him than he could have on her, and she'd used both to her full advantage. A parochial and unrefined young man should have been more cowed by her exotic guards and cultured manners. But, though he did seem duly aware of it all, he had still found the gull to question her, to refuse her to her face, even; just barely avoiding seeming rude while he did.  
It was irritating. _It was also thrilling._ Here was no easy conquest, no simpering lording groveling at her feet. Here was a man, who was demanding to be treated as equal, yet treating her with the utmost respect as he did so. Contrary indeed. She had not met many such.

Men were often willing to make fools of themselves for her. Willing to follow her quickly and with deference. Willing to let her hold all the power. Between that, and the nearly-blind devotion she inspired in her newely-freed people, and the fierce pride her Dothraki Khaleesar exuded at serving her, she had gotten used to being worshiped, or at least uncontested by all but her enemies (and, at times, Tyrion, and Varys, she'd had to admit). She'd grown accustomed to it, was irked and frustrated to be denied what she had come to think of as her due. But... it was also... _intriguing_ , somehow.

Perhaps Daario was right; she was a conqueror, and the fire in her burned that much hotter when it encountered a challenge. She would get this King in the North to bend the knee to her, she'd decided with renewed vigour. She would take what is hers. And the North, was hers!

For the time-being, she had to focus back on updating her strategy in the war she was waging to win back the Iron-Throne. Jon Snow's time will come after.  
Let him ponder his situation, as her "guest", while she does so, she smirked. Let him pace and brood. We'll see what comes of it, and who'd be left standing last.

She set her mind back on her battle plans with intensified focus, ignoring the quiet voice in the back of her mind which seemed to whisper doubtfully, of what exactly it was she now wanted to conquer about the North most... the Kingdom... or the stubborn, intractable, and rather handsome King...

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tyrion tracked with slow deliberation back up the hill, taking the longer way around on his way back towards the castle, his brow furrowed in thought. There was much on his mind, and he wanted the extra moments amidst the fresh air, to sift through his thoughts, before deciding on which ones, and how, he would share with his Queen.

The conversation with Jon Snow a few moments ago, has left him with many impressions. Jon wasn't a fool, despite his statement to the contrary. He had a purpose in coming here, important enough to risk his freedom and his life for. Tyrion knew that he was likely telling the truth, and when Jon told him about his need for DragonGlass, and requested to mine it on the Island, Tyrion was relieved that there was something he could bring to Daenerys as a sign of good-will to the King in the North, which she had no reason to refuse.

Save for her pride, perhaps. _  
Pride often keeps us oblivious to the obvious.  
_ But then, he mused, up until a few minutes ago, he had been unsure himself  
 _  
_She didn't take to Jon Snow when she'd met him. If anything, he irked her greatly with his blunt refusal and resistance of acknowledging her as his Monarch. It stirred the fire in her, and she had been rather forceful with him in turn, with the result of only alienating Jon Snow further, nearly putting him off entirely from the possibility of an alliance of any kind.  
It's a good thing they'd temporarily relieved the King in the North of his transportation, as he surely would have been gone by now if they had not. _Which would be a shame in so many ways_ , Tyrion smirked as he toyed again with the budding idea in his mind.

Between the musings he'd had as he informed Daenerys of what sort of man Jon Snow was, and what he'd observed of him since his arrival on Dragonstone, Tyrion was now convinced that Jon had all the qualifications to make for a good King.  
 _Save for his lack of a Queen._

It wasn't until a handful of minutes ago, when he'd told Jon that Daenerys protected people from monsters, _just as he did_ , that the idea solidified in his mind.

_Those two would make for an excellent match, in every sense of the word. They were just too busy pouting, to see it._

Tyrion also knew, that though Daenerys had been prepared since before leaving Meereen for the possibility of a marriage alliance for political reasons, and Jon was the type to sacrifice his personal considerations for the good of his cause and his Kingdom, neither was considering the possibility of a union between them, nor would be open to it so early on, given their rough beginning.

Encouraging Jon, to seek out her loyal subjects' opinions of the Queen, was an excellent first step. He'd have to suggest something similar, to Daenerys as well, he smirked.  
They do not know each other yet, only having met that morning. _He'd need to help remedy that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got ourselves a sneaky matchmaker!  
> Wouldn't Tyrion make a great one, with his talent for subtle intrigue?! ;)
> 
> I've decided to stick with introspective Show-Canon filler for now. But, we'll see what the muses suggest as we go.  
> If anyone knows which collections on this site, this fic would be perfect to be added to, please let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much longer one this time- actually long enough to really be called a chapter, for once. ;)  
> Enjoy. :)

The winds over Dragonstone tussled and caressed the long blades of grass along the rocky path, making the greenery shimmer as it caught the sun, first this way, than that. Daenerys eyed it, admiring the simple beauty, grateful for the peace, for the stress beginning to seep out of her tense muscles and tired mind. The breeze caught the loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them behind her as she sped up into a little run, enjoying a moment of freedom from planning or worry, or the responsibilities of being Queen. She slowed down by the big boulder at the curve of the path, exhaled and climbed to sit atop it, stretching out her limbs and leaning back on her arms as she turned her face to the sun, soaking in its' warm rays, eyes closed, and let her mind wonder.  
  
She had grudgingly agreed with Tyrion during their talk this afternoon. The DragonGlass was not a commodity she cared about, and if it may be of use to the King in the North, there was no reason not to let him mine it. A sign of good faith, Tyrion had called it. _I suppose that's currently what we have_ , she thought, _a wary kind of good faith._

Her Hand had suggested, among his other commentaries, that perhaps a more cooperative approach could be found, which would be much more effective at drawing Jon Snow into an alliance.  
He had told her of their conversation earlier that day, and how it was only by Tyrion's suggestion that Jon mitigate his request to be more reasonable, given the circumstances, that Jon had divulged his want for the DragonGlass. _More reasonable, given the circumstances._ He'd emphasized those words, giving her a pointed look as he did, and though she'd pursed her lips at it in annoyance, the logic in his words was hard to dismiss.

So here she was, contemplating what was and was not reasonable in this situation. Though her desire to subdue the North had not diminished, she was willing to review the situation from alternate angles.   
  
It had been hinted to her, both by Tyrion, and much earlier, by Ser Barriston Selmy, to be wary of the corruption which power can bring; of the feeling of forceful rightness that comes from an over-inflated pride, and the close-mindedness which followed it. She thought with a sad sort of fondness, of Ser Barriston, then; of the sweet stories he'd shared with her about her brother Rhaegar, as well as the horrific ones about her father, the “Mad King”. She knew exactly which one of the two she wanted to resemble more, though the moment-by-moment choices which amounted to the difference between following those very different sets of examples, were often hard to recognize and follow. Daenerys sighed, committing herself to watching for that difference with greater care.  
  
Her mind turning back to Jon Snow, she suddenly wondered if, and how, the King in the North dealt with pressures of power and rulership, himself. She valued her advisors, and the guidance and support they offered her, but sometimes, during rare moments such as this one, she wished she'd had someone to talk to, who's dealt with the heavy weight of a crown, and knew how it felt in a more personal way. She was not sure the King in the North would be someone she could ever discuss such things with, but she knew she would benefit from exploring that possibility. With Tyrion's advice still fresh in her mind, about being more open-minded about life _and people_ (he'd emphasized that part too), she decided to give Jon Snow a little more of the benefit of the doubt.   
  
  


* * *

  
  


Jon didn't know what to do other than pace and wander with near aimlessness around the winding walkways of the Island, trying to distract himself from his frustrated thoughts of where else he could be, _should_ be, instead. _No use dwelling on that right now. No use sulking. He was a King now,_ he thought with determination, but still quite a bit of disbelief, _and a King did not sulk in corners like a castle's bastard did._ He had to find a way to proceed. He hoped the Queen's consent to his request, would enable that.  
  
Tyrion had heard him out, and said he'd believed him, though a little reluctance was understandably still there in his tone. He'd placed his trust in the clever dwarf, to parlay with the Dragon Queen about it on his behalf. Though something told him it would have been more Kingly to have come to her with the request himself, he knew the shorter man had her ear and her confidence more than he did at this time, and was glad of the feeling of having a mediator who was at least partially on his side.  
This was a matter too important to jeopardize, and while Jon was still unsure how precisely to handle the imperious Daenerys, her Hand surely knew how to, much better.  
  
A screech sounded overhead, and Jon looked up, just in time to watch a sleek green dragon fly overhead and out across the water, its' scales catching the rays of the setting sun. His eyes followed it out toward the horizon, and as he did, he realized he was not the only one watching its' glide across the currents.  
As his brother, creamy golden colored, and shining even brighter beneath the light, flew by to join him, Jon took a deep breath and began descending down the many stairs, towards the plateau overlooking the water, where Daenerys stood gazing out at the flying beasts, facing away from him.  
As he came nearer, his gaze fixated on her- her long flowing locks, gleaming silver-white, were swaying slightly with the breeze, only the many intricate braids within them keeping them in place. Still, a few stray wisps did seem to escape from the tightly-knit arrangement, making her look just a little less composed and imperious than before. _Still regal though_ , Jon thought... _and still stunning..._  
He shook his head at that unwelcome thought, as if to shake it out of his head. That was the last thing he wanted on his mind.  
Taking a long, shallow breath to compose himself, and glancing once more at the horizon where the great creatures could still be seen, Jon squared his shoulders and stepped closer.  
  
“Amazing thing to see”, he commented, announcing his presence with unintrusive informality, coming to join her on the same plateau.  
  
Daenerys inclined her head lightly to one side, her gaze still on the dragons.  
“I named them for my brothers, Viserys and Rhaegar. They're both gone now.” There was a new tone in her voice he hadn't heard before- softer than it had been in the reception hall earlier that morning. More... approachable?!  
“You lost two brothers as well?” She half asked, half commented gently, turning around then, and her face, while still a bit guarded, did not obscure the compassion in her eyes.

  
He winced as the memories, and the still unprocessed grief of the more recent loss of Rickon, assailed his mind. He nodded lightly, and as his eyes met hers for a brief second, he found a wistful sadness mirrored back at him beneath her usual composure. Almost... reaching out?! He was suddenly uncomfortably aware, once again, that there was a lot more than met the eye to Daenerys Targaryen. But this time he had an idea as to what: whatever else she ever was- proud, imperious, and intensely unnerving, the heart of this Dragon Queen, was a warm one.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He inclined his head downward, the brief second of eye contact gone, the grief for his brothers' loss, which was evident in his gaze a second ago, once again veiled.  
She looked down, composing herself as well. She had meant to acknowledge the similitude of their experience, to pay homage to their fallen kin. It seems it reached deeper than she'd meant it to. _His grief is fresher then mine_ , she remembered sadly, feeling for his loss.  
_This is not the time to get emotional_ , she told herself. She wanted to remain in control. Perhaps a slight shift of topic...

“People thought dragons were gone forever, but here they are.” She spoke, her voice once again composed , and cocked her head as she glanced back at him meaningfully, “perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know.”

His mouth tugged up on one side into a sardonic grin as he glanced away at her, looking out at the horizon. “You've been talking to Tyrion.” He was calling her out, and though there was no malice or ill intent in that, the balance of power in the conversation shifted immediately, along with... something else she couldn't place. A sort of familiarity, which felt odd to her. Almost... unsettling.  
Grimacing slightly at his deadpan, she leaned back against the wall behind her, looking in the opposite direction.

“He is my hand” she pointed out.

“He enjoys talking”, Jon commented, clearly meaning to draw attention to how he enjoyed it much less. More distancing. More walls.  
  
  


“We all enjoy what we're good at” she tried to draw him back into a shared experience, something which most people would agree with, but he was not making it easy.  
  
“I don't”. He stated quietly, his eyes lost somewhere, the attractive features of his profile looking unreadable beneath her steady gaze. So far from here. So far from her.  
Suddenly, she felt her ire rise a little. Maybe because he was paying her no heed, forgetting she was a formidable woman. Maybe because he had been contrary one sentence too many. _Maybe because you want his attention_ , her mind whispered unbidden, annoying her further.  
  
“You know I'm not going to let Cersi stay on the Iron Throne!” She stated with quiet firmness.

That, at least, got his attention. He turned to face her immediately, his face resolute and unyielding, “I never expected that you would.” he acknowledged, clearly responding to the unspoken challenge in her tone.  
  
“And I haven't changed my mind about which Kingdoms belong to that throne...” she added quickly.  
“I haven't either.” His gaze met hers firmly, and she could see a passionate immovability in it which irked her further, even while it sent unbidden thrills down her spine. She broke eye contact- in frustration, she told herself. He was irritating her. That was all.  
What was she supposed to do with this man?!  
  
She focused on the sound of the waves in the background, allowing them to soothe her out of her irritation - with him, or herself, she wasn't sure which was greater.  
He was still a potential alley, she reminded herself, and she had a peace offering of sorts, to extend to him.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I will allow you to mine the DragonGlass, and make weapons from it. Any resources or men you need I will provide for you.”

He blinked, glancing at her in near disbelief. A moment ago, she was attempting to intimidate him.  
To suddenly change the subject in his favour; to suddenly turn amicable...  
_She doesn't want to fight either_ , he realized suddenly. Relief flooded him, regarding finally having access to the DragonGlass the North so desperately needed; regarding his trip not being in vain after all; and, he realized, to feel like Daenerys Targaryen was a little more on his side.  
  
“Thank you” he breathed, looking at her gratefully.  
  
He was about to turn back up the hill, to seek out Ser Davos and his men and begin taking stock of what the mining project would entail, but he stilled a second. There was one more thing he was hopeful for...  
“So you believe me then, about the wight-walkers and the army of the dead?” he addressed her, hesitantly, but wanting to know; hoping...  
  
But she didn't look back at him, her eyes back on her Dragon-children. Dismissing him with her lack of attention, all she offered by way of reply, was “You'd better get to work, Jon Snow.”  
  
_Right_ , he thought, _why would she suddenly trust me on this?_ It was unreasonable to expect.  
Offering a curt nod, he turned on his heel and headed resolutely back up the hill, refusing to look back... or to ask himself, why it was he suddenly wanted her belief in him, that much more.

 


End file.
